Letter From The Office Of Can't Win

So, after a phone call and some e-mails calling me at least four kinds of fucker, I've slept on it and have come to a conclusion. I've done nothing wrong, but I still lose...kinda.

Here's the situation that happened as far as I understand while keeping everyone anonymous. Individual A committed action 1 which irked Individual B. Individual B ran it by Individual Me and I told them to just let things work themselves out and it really shouldn't be an irkabling situation. Action 1 took place which led to Action 2 by Individual B which resulted in talking to Individual Me about it.

Two weeks go by and gnarly phone call (action 3 takes place) and I'm accused of telling someone (Individual X because I have no idea who it is) about Individual A's actions which then lead to Individual B telling me, which then lead to Individual Me being an asshole.

A1 = B
B + ME = A2
ME + A2 + X = A3
B + ME + A3 = B(Asshole)

By the way, I've gone through credit card charges and I have no idea when and where this could have possibly happened and wouldn't put some brilliant Melrose Place conspiracy out of contention, but then when I even pondered that, I lost interest in the whole thing and just felt dirty for even considering it a possibility. I think it may actually be one, though, judging by recent historical events paired with clandestine bathroom meetings and subterfuge that have taken place. It's like being in a fucking Cold War with all the spying and misdirection going on. Then again, it could have possibly been an offhanded comment in a blackout, but there was only one of those and the worst thing that happened was that I think I have a stripper's phone number in my phone.

I felt bad about it for a day and then retraced everything back to action 1. I didn't do anything besides try and be supportive to Individual B, however, go back and try to figure out that chain of events. Honestly, if I was quizzed about action 1 and action 2, I don't really even remember any details and to be able to relay that to someone else boggles my mind.

At this point, you are totally as lost as I am, but in a nutshell, I've been accused of saying something about someone's actual actions. Dude, if I say something shitty about someone or do something stupid, I'll be the first guy in line to beat myself up about it and totally take responsibility for it, but I've got nothing on this one.

If you beat up a hobo and I watched it and someone asked me if I saw you recently and I replied that I saw you beat up a hobo, am I an asshole for beating up the hobo? Fuck, I need a team of lawyers to figure this one out.

There is a silver lining to it, though. I've gone back and retraced my steps like a guy who lost his keys and have come to the conclusion that I don't do this He Said, She Said shit. I've tried to find instances in the recent past as a starting point to figure out what to do and I've got nothing. I do know that I've dealt with it more in the last six weeks than I have since high school and I'm way too old for it.

I don't understand the toxicity in people and I do worry about catching it. If you put your toe in a public swimming pool, you are more than likely going to to get pee on it. Fuck, somehow, even when you walk away from the pool, you can still get pee water splashed on you from inside the pool. The message? Don't stand near a pool unless you want to get pee on you.

So, I'll take one for the team, but I prefer being called an asshole for being an asshole. This time, however, it's the path of least resistance and that is definitely in the other direction of the pool.

Take this for an example, you've been walking through the desert for like two days and you come upon two baskets. In the basket on the left there is nothing in it. In the one on the right there is a giant bottle of ice cold water and a snake. Take my advice, if you are going to put your hand in anything, put it in the empty basket. Better to not risk getting bit and remaining thirsty than to take a chance of getting a snakebite and a drink of water and called an asshole. Snakes will totally call you an asshole. Pro tip. It's in the bible. I've never really read it, but I know there is a snake in there somewhere near the beginning. If snakes were rad then Indiana Jones would like them. He doesn't because he probably read the bible. Or, he got lost in the desert and reached into the wrong fuckin' basket and got called an asshole and bit by a snake.

Up next is the mating habits of the Bakersfield raccoons that have taken up residence outside my front door. So far I've got this. They watch a lot of movies and then between them they straddle each other on the front porch while listening to country music too loud. They also make the sounds of a raping at a petting zoo that can be heard outside of the apartment.

Yeah, from the outside it looks like true love, but upon further inspection there is something incredibly dysfunctional that you can't quite put your finger on. Perhaps it's the Orange Crush and plastic bottle vodka that one of them offered you. Perhaps it's the way one of them walks up to your screen door and shakes her fake boobs at you while you are closing up a 13 hour work day on your couch. I should probably have an answer in the very near future and in the meantime will just involuntarily observe the mating habits of the Bakersfield raccoons in love.

Addendum: There was an incident in July that was some He Said, She Said stuff that I was involved in. I'll take that one.

A Man A Plan A Shower Grenade

Never let it be said that I didn't have a plan from the get go. Miserable failures and unlikely awesomenesses are all part of the game, but there is always a plan whether I'm aware of it or not. Usually it's the latter.

So, here's the plan. Socks with magnets in the toes so that when you are watching porn and sorting your laundry (carrot and stick), it's easier to pair them. Why hasn't this been done? Instead, sock manufacturers have devoted time to creating new shades of black ranging from army black to navy black and 36,000 different fabric textures.

It's like playing fucking Memory once you've accumulated enough work socks. You pull them outside in and then lay them out on your bed. After you've hung your pants and shirts up and put your underwear away, there it is: 36 completely different socks. You start top left of your sock grid and start comparing one to the other 35 until you find a suitable match. My ex was horrible at this game and often I'd find myself in a lower calf work sock and a lower knee work sock working in tandem with each other. It was horribly uncomfortable. Yeah, me. I do my own laundry now.

I've tried to buy one brand and it didn't work. I could never find the same socks again. They change from season to season or from store to store. I've seen my step brother safety pin matching pairs together and thought it was crazy, but he might've been on to something...if he had used magnets. This is why I'm the family genius. I haven't come up with a solid solution to this outside of magnets, though. Okay, I'm like the family shitty genius.

Next plan. Shower grenade. It started with a daily shower wash and then it evolved into this. It's the Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner For the Hopelessly Fat and Lazy Consumer crowd. It's pretty much a fucking sprinkler for your shower. So, my ex got me to buy into the daily spray and I'll admit that it has lessened the time spent shower scrubbing, but a whirling soap siren is a little much I think. I do, however, think that cleaning the shower and related bathroom receptacles should be more fun, so I propose the HughVoltage Weekly Bathroom Grenade.

Here's how it works. Once a week you pull out your bathroom grenade and pull the cleaning pin out of the device. Let's say Friday morning before work. Toss that fucker into the bathroom and go to work. At the end of the day you will return home and bask in the explosive cleanliness of your bathroom. No paper towel mess. No streaks on the mirror. Just an explosion of cleanliness. If this pans out, the HughVoltage Weekly Living Room Grenade would be next. Oh, also, do not eat the HughVoltage Weekly Bathroom Grenade like ice cream. It is not astronaut ice cream.

Fuck, maybe I just need a maid or a butler. Waiting on the butler until I start fighting crime at night. So, I'll have to stick with the maid for now.

Actually, maybe I'll just get a plant.

Corey Feldman Was Awesome In Dream A Little Dream

Okay. Gonna get a bit weird for a second. Last Friday, I made the trek to the old hood for my stepdad's birthday. My stepsister and her husband were in town, so we had a small dinner with my grandparents and my sister from LA.

The drive was horrible and traffic laden, but I was feeling really good about stuff. The physical therapist had gone silent since the date on Thursday, but I was totally cool with it. Sometimes people just don't click. I thought it actually went pretty well, but I did inform her that I was operating way out of my comfort zone as I could not find one hangup about her. There was absolutely no dysfunction with her and there was nothing to "fix." Basically, I had never experienced it before and was lost. It felt like wearing one wet sock. Hmmm. Maybe that was it. Whatever, I was being myself and if she had an issue with that then it is what it is. As a consolation prize, one of the waitresses on the way out asked me where the last girl I was with was and I told her that she broke up with me for her ex. The waitress then told me that she had a boyfriend, but I should really have her number and she put it into my phone. Why do I ever even bother trying to understand people or their motives?

So, anyway, got to dinner and then about twenty minutes into it I just got this wave of bad vibe. It was like when Obi-Wan sensed the destruction of Alderaan. It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I feared something terrible had happened...or was about to.

I went to the bar that my sister works at with my stepdad and got mortified by the town that I grew up in. It was absolutely frightening, the combination of cougars and dudes with grey chest hair escaping their hopeless Tommy Bahama shirts. The apparel had no chance of holding that shit back. We bounced after one beer and one horrible cover of Panama by Van Hagar. Van Hagar? Yes, because the dude couldn't sing it David Lee Roth style to save his life.

We got home and drank 80% of a bottle of Glenlivet with my brother-in-law who is a naval pilot. He's good people. I fell asleep that night to the sound of the freeway through the window. I find it somehow calming and it reminds me of being a kid and growing up in that house. Simpler times.

So, the next morning at 7:00 AM, I got up and my little sister told me that my other sister had broken up with her career boyfriend at 2:00 AM that morning. For a second, I felt I had had a premonition the night before, but I don't believe in that crap. The family went into red alert. We'd been through this before so many times. We're a family that gets punched in the heart habitually. You'd think we'd learn. It probably explains why we are all so funny. Humor is our only hope of dealing with the horrific shit that we are always dealing with. A tribe of sad clowns.

So, I jumped on some baby shower tasks with my coffee run that morning. One of which was getting an out of season watermelon. That shit was like $16, but was the prized task of the morning. I got back to the house and then ran my 15 year old sister to the salon to get her nails done for homecoming. I then realized that I was three years older than my mom was when I was 15 and going to homecoming. That was creepy. I followed that with casing a house that had a lawn jockey in the front yard that I wanted to steal. The garage door was open and my attempt was foiled. Next time, though, I will come both correct and prepared for the theft in the name of anti-bigotry.

I got back home from the errands and my sister showed up. She got three steps out of her car and lost her shit. My heart broke for her. We sat down in the back yard for a bit and talked stuff through. It's a horrible thing that she's going through and I know it all too well. She left before the weird grandma could get to the party and accost her via passages from the Book of Mormon. It was a smart move.

I had had enough of the shower at one point and bailed back home to meet friends and watch football. Cue the shit show. After a bevy of Robert Palmers we went to sushi. I was housed. We then got dropped off at one of the shittiest strip clubs known to man by my friend's wife. I grabbed a cab from there and went back downtown to meet the waitress from the bar at another bar. This is the part where if I was sober I would have asked myself "If I am so unhappy in the hole that I'm in, why do I keep digging down?" I would then toss the shovel and start screaming for help.

I knew that it was a waste of time. I knew that it was wrong, but my feet kept taking me in that direction. Regardless, there was nothing done wrong and I went home after hanging out briefly.

Sunday was a wash while wearing sweatpants and catching up with the DVR. It was actually fairly relaxing after a nutty Saturday. Everything still felt okay. I realized I shouldn't be unhappy about what I don't have and instead should direct my happiness towards what I do have. I'm the rebound guy. I'm who girls turn to when their boyfriend or husband is a dick. That's my role. I'm not going to savor it, but I'll be okay with it until somebody decides to stick around for a bit. There is just one problem. I'm always waiting for the next one to pick up and split. They always do.

So, this morning, mental debris has just kind of been tugging on the back of my brain. There is a tinge of anxiety. A tinge of dizziness. A lack of concentration with a side of notivation. Finally, I'm experiencing what I'll refer to as self-estorm issues. It's a lack of calmness in regards to how I feel about myself. I'm totally cool with myself. I have nice shoes on and a full head of hair, but I still am having issues accepting my situation as happy this morning. There is the residual tug from what my sister's going through. There is leftover brain sludge from visiting home. There is a general malcontent with being alone. There are just some things that I want that I can't have: lightsaber, monkey, a counterpart who cares. For now, I've got absolute freedom and complete unaccountability to anyone. I'm living some peoples' dream, I just wish it was mine.

The Chronicles of Normia

So, last night, I took the pill and jumped down the rabbit hole. My feet were definitely dragging, but I knew I had to try going out with my physical therapist for at least my family and friends sake. Plus, she asked nicely. The girl is a physical therapist who tutors high school kids in Algebra in her free time from work. She is the female equivalent of a boy scout in heels. She likes to cook, loves her parents and is well versed in pop culture. It's absolutely frightening for me. I don't do the traditional date thing. This was more like a job interview.

So, I met her at her work downtown and we just walked a few blocks to a place that had the baseball game on and wasn't too loud that had good food. We were not going out to party. The girl weighs 85 pounds and can't do more than one drink. It's good on my credit card, that's for sure.

We talked about whatever for a bit and then we hit the elephant in the room. After our second date about 8 months ago I was convinced that she didn't like me because she yawned while we were hanging out. Apparently, she is an insomniac, too. We share a similar non-sleeping pattern. She has a pharmacological background, though, so she knew a thing or two about pill cocktails that she shared in the event that I ever want to go that route. She then explained to me that after we hung out she had a bout of disillusionment with her place in life and was going to pick up and leave California because she missed her social network in Philadelphia and just kind of withdrew. It's funny because after I hung out with her I realized I had a ton of hangups and rushed my head to therapy to get repaired. So, that was kind of eye opening. Then, she called me out when I yawned. Irony.

So, we watched the ball game and she actually called both home runs in the game as the batter came up to bat. It was freaky. This is definitely different than I'm used to, though. I'm used to reckless abandon and tragic romance. In this case, it's two kids with walls up against each other trying to figure out if they can trust the other person and I think I actually intimidate her, but she made two Aldous Huxley references and followed that up with an Ayn Rand Atlas Shrugged reference, which is awesome. She is well read. If she makes a Pynchon reference I'll be amazed.

We had dinner and then chased a beer with water while the game finished out and I walked her to her car and gave her a hug goodnight. She said she wanted to hang out again next week. I said "No problem. That would be good" and then went home to catch hell for it. That's none of anyone's business, though.

So, drinking the Kool-Aid of the Bed, Bath and Beyond set. Trying to live how the other half lives, but it seems kind of healthy. Not fun, but healthy. Is this giving up or growing up? Is normalcy okay for me? I'm severely conflicted by the whole thing and definitely have some cobwebs lingering from very recent wounds. The jury is definitely out on this one, but I'm doing my best. I feel like a guy staring at the menu who knows that a salad is better for him, but that steak looks pretty fuckin' good even if it's going to wreck my heart, but everyone knows that a fool thinks he can have his cake and eat it, too. Sometimes, though, it's good enough just to have the cake and not eat it. Sometimes. A steak every once in a while is fine, too, by the way.

Must Love Dogs

I got my second night of decent sleep in a row last night. I blame two Amstel Lights and some pasta, but it was much better sleep than lately. I had really peculiar dreams, though.

I woke up from one of them around Midnight or One because it was disturbing me pretty bad. I was hanging out with my sister's dog, who I love to death, and it kept biting my hand. Then, it started biting my leg and I kept looking down at it and saying, "I love you to death, Charlie" and then would remove its mouth from my hand or arm or leg or wherever the dog was clamped down. I then punched it in the nose and it stopped, but my sister got superpissed and quit talking to me. Like it wasn't the dog who was doing the wrong thing, but me. Hmmm. Sat and thought about that one for a bit last night.

Can you imagine if people were like dogs? Walking around pissing on trees, marking their territory as they went? That world would be insane.

The other dream was just of a party that I was at where a girl that I knew wasn't talking to me and in turn convincing dudes with tribal armband tattoos that I had done something bad to her. I woke up when they all were pummeling me for crimes I didn't commit like the A-Team. Weird night.

Ballad of the "Hey, How Are Ya?" Guy

It seems so simple. A look from a relative stranger expresses acknowledgment of your face and you say instinctively "Hey, how are ya?" Honestly, you could give a fuck, but it seems like the right thing to say. They say "Good," "Fine" or whatever and then they say back "How are you?" and you boldface lie to them with a "Great."

Your stomach's in knots. Your heart hurts. Your head hurts. You're exhausted and your hands have been shaking for weeks to the point that you think you have MS. All of this shit and you just lie to them. You are a liar for the benefit of others.

On the other hand, they could be doing the same. When is the day when we can all drop the charade and just share our real feelings with each other? Good ones will eventually happen. I had them for a couple of months recently and the "Great" was really great. It wasn't bullshit, but it was fleeting.

So, now, I'm looking at others who tell me they are doing "Good" a little suspectly. They could be bullshitting me and going through the same stuff that I am and we'll never know. We could help each other and talk about things, but we just hide our secrets behind cordial pleasantries. They could be going home and staring at a bottle of meds while they pet their cat named after their high school sweetheart and watch Moonlighting reruns on DVD while eating a tasteless Lean Cuisine at night and planning their escape. They could be going home to a man with a shirt with his name on it who calls them a "cunt" and hits them as he gets ready to go to bed underneath his handlebar moustache and a stench of whiskey.

Where am I going with this? There are horrible people out there doing horrible things to people and these people just keep walking through life faking it. Faking a smile. Laughing nervously as if someone might figure them out if they don't laugh. So, they look at you and say "Good." It's a protection mechanism sometimes. It's a wall. As long as everyone is good, everything will be fine.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not all darkness. I've seen good in the world. I've seen people that say "Good" and I know it's the truth. These people intimidate me because I feel like we are on different teams. Or, I feel like they've reached some unattainable level of self-awareness that has to be cut with ignorance to be truly reached. Like if they were really aware of the things that I was, there would be no way that they could be happy. I'm really hoping that someday, however, I'm going to relate to these people. I want to be one of these people. I want to mean it when I lie to you.

I have to be wrong on this and "good" has to be real. God, I hope I'm wrong, but in the meantime I'll just be "great."

By the way, I don't have a cat and don't eat Lean Cuisines. Everything is fine and manageable. It's everyone else that I worry about.

Just Once

Last night, I did everything right...almost. I had a salad when I got home from work and then worked for a bit while I watched House. I'm still trying to figure out why my mother is always saying that he reminds her of me. No limp. No beard. No pills, but Mom sees the world just a little different than the rest of you.

I was working the whole time until about 9:30, which is close to bed time for me and headed off to bed. I was stoked because I was getting to bed early and was going to get a gang of sleep after like a 14 hour day. SPOILER ALERT: It didn't happen.

I'll be frank. I dropped off the radar because I fell and skinned my knee, figuratively. She really made me happy, though. I took it a little hard. Not as hard as I've ever taken it, but a little hard. (Insert that's what she said or gay joke right here.) Still aches a bit, but that's how second place feels. Actually, it feels more like Al Gore must have felt. I feel like I may have actually won the election, but someone else gets to be President and I would've been a better one and Sean Penn would probably agree. See? Exactly like Al Gore.

Anyway, I was exhausted and relatively at peace and should have fallen right asleep, but nothing. Almost had it a couple of times, but my mind was just bouncing from subject to subject and thinking about it too much. It went through the girl situation a few times, how I've gotta move, how I've gotta buy a new car, get some new shoes, get a haircut, get back to the gym, eat better, why is that lump on my head not going away and why does it hurt, vacuum, clean my apartment, take out the garbage, get up and go to work in the morning....This is how it works. It's like a fucking Bing commercial.

So, I read somewhere that if you try for an hour and can't sleep, you should get out of bed and smoke. Well, it said you should get out of bed and the smoking part I kind of added, but sometimes it works. I sat down and turned the TV on and ate a handful of trail mix while I stressed about all of the sleeping opportunity I was missing out on. Then, I realized that I had "Just Once" by James Ingram from Quincy Jones' The Dude stuck in my head. Not the worst thing to get stuck in your head, but still. On top of that, I was watching the season premiere of Girls Next Door. This lasted about four minutes before I switched it to the news for a second and then tried to sleep again.

Here's the new pattern: sleep for two hours and then wake up for a half hour and then sleep for two hours, etc. I FUCK(intentional space for emphasis) ING hate it. I've tried Tylenol PM. Mom says smoke weed. Some dude said masturbate...how in the hell would that make you sleep unless you were super out of touch with yourself? Coltrane used to work. White noise used to work. The last thing to work was a stuffed hippo and someone to spoon. That was the last time in two years that I've slept in until 10:00 AM.

Could that really be it? Could I be having problems sleeping alone again? That's dangerous. That's how you get into some trouble just so that you don't have to be alone. That's what we no longer want to get into because some mistakes get made that way. Awkward mornings and beds also get made, though. The bed part is nice.

So, anyway. I thought I had this last thing locked down and thought I was pointed in the right direction, but I think I've still got some slivers from the stake that got jammed in my chest or back depending on which angle you look at it from. It's all good. I'm taking it for what it is, but it's like getting gum on your shoe. It's never fully gone no matter how hard you try and remove it. David Roth, my problems have become gum on shoes. This would never happen to DJ Reggie. (wink wink)

Next up is blatant retardation in the workplace. I went back to my normal desk this morning as I've been on a project that is killing me more than cigarettes could ever try to and wanted to get back to my stuff. I walked into the office and it was completely dark. Now, I'm down with sustainability, but that's stupid.

"Hey, I love Abraham Lincoln, but where's the light switch? I'm not working by candle light."

A girl said, "Oh, we had the lights changed yesterday and they are too bright so we're not turning them on."

I replied, "I'm turning on the goddamn lights and if the water bottle is empty and the coffee is not made, I swear to god, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

She just snapped back, "You are the fucking office diva."

What? Coffee, water, light? I'm not asking for stock options, free lunch or free It's-It's. Just the fucking basics. A Sharpie. An Avery Hi-Liter. A black Uni-Ball deluxe pen. Post-Its and a ruler. Just basic items.

So, the electrician came over and literally said this, "Oh, so you are going to need to turn them on now that it's dark?"

I replied, "Dude, they are lights. You don't need them when it's light out. It's nice that they hang there, but if they are not going to light the room, you might as well yank 'em out. It's like a flashlight with no batteries. Those are called sticks."

Seriously, dude?!?!?!? Think about it. Yes, lamps are for light. Yes, they will be needed when it is the opposite of light as they are there to compensate for the absence of light. This is basic luminal philosophy. So, there you are. Bees in the bonnet by 9:30 AM with no sleep and a jilted chip on my shoulder. Look out motherfuckers.

Seriously?!

Last weekend was a disaster. Lost my phone and recovered it in some lady's mailbox. Lost my glasses. Self-medicated, etc...

Then, after a night of no sleep over a twelve hour period of trying, I opened up my inbox and the physical therapist who I had a miserable second date with awhile back emailed me to ask me out after I bumped into her at my physical therapy appointment. Actually, my new therapist and her were pointing at my shoulder and going, "watch what his shoulder blade does right there." The balls on her. I've become a test case at physical therapy and I guess the awkwardness was all in my head. This was pre-mental therapy mind you.

My only concern is her lack of red flags. She is tiny, cute, smart, and has nothing to fix or save. Is that anything I should be interested in? Can I handle normalcy over lunacy? Can I shake the dust off and put my head back together? So many questions with worthless answers these days.

Whuddadik?

Just to prove to myself that I was still relevant, I got the untouchable bartender's number last night. And her last name. I saw it in my phone today. I'm still too distracted by the last girl to possibly have any connection with her, but she's stupid hot. I was in trainwreck mode and still pulled it off, which proves that I can do it on autopilot. Autopilot is going to be the main mode from here on out. I don't want to be with her, I want to be with someone else, but if I can take her away from everyone else, I win. It's the difference between an emotional connection and a physical connection. Also, I'm a dick at heart.

I'm naive and stupid thinking that the last girl was the be all end all. I've had the be all end all a couple of times and survived, but goddammit this last one was awesome. She made me laugh. She made me feel. And, I could see it in her eyes that she adored me, but in the end, none of it was enough. Trying to let go and face the music, but it's just very bitter medicine.

On a medicinal note, I went to what used to be Long's yesterday because they called and told me I had a prescription to pick up. I wasn't aware of one, so I showed up and bought it out of curiosity. The warning on the bottle said "Consult a physician if you experience fear or anxiety." Yeah, dude, I'll skip that. After further inspection, I figured out it was Welbutrin. Apparently, I'm still on it. I gave the last bottle to my rapy neighbor after he cried into a vodka gimlet at 7:00 AM. My therapist asked me not to take it as I was making progress being in touch with my feelings. That worked out fuckin' well. He told me I was ready to have an adult relationship and that just fucking blew up in my face. I was so much better when I was unavailable and inintimate. Regardless, I'm debating on giving the bottle to my neighbor to keep him less rapy, but that's just starting a vicious cycle where I carry a prescription for him. Oh, shit. He never gave me back my ice tray that I loaned him. Whuddadik?

Grand Finally

So, I still have my bouts of insomnia, but managed to pull some sleep together last night with only one minor incident. I'm off the Tylenol PM (pills are bad for me) and managed to fall asleep fairly peacefully, but woke up at midnight from a horrible nightmare where all I remember is that someone was drilling through my fingertips with a cordless drill. It felt real and as I woke up from it my body was tensing like it really happened. It was a little bit weird.

Right then, when I started realizing everything was okay, my phone buzzed and it was a text that said "Can't sleep. Is it past your bedtime?"

Of course, it was. I go to bed when children and old people do most nights. I also get up with the rest of the cocks. Totally unnecessary poultry joke there. It was an ex who is married now and I texted back for a little bit and said goodnight and then all the bad (mildly bad, really) stuff started flooding in and I had to sit there and process it all so that my brain would shut the fuck up.

For the best. Better off. These are fun collections of words that manifest themselves as velvet daggers. They are meant to make you feel better, but ultimately just pull your stitches out. There is definitely an ideal situation that would be for the best and leave me better off, but it's not this one. The situation would involve having someone who cared about me in my life and in turn, having someone to care about. I had those things for a brief moment. Now, I'm getting back to my old routine and withdrawing, eating healthy, going to bed early, but I feel lonely and lost.

I'm fine. I'm better off than a lot of people are, but there has got to be something more than this for me. I'm finally not being retarded. I'm finally not being self-destructive. I'm finally caring about myself, which by the way, makes one feel incredibly vulnerable. I won't be jumping off of a moving car any time soon unless this goes away. I'm finally at a place where I could actually be good for someone and then when I got a chance at it, it got yanked away. Classic case of up for grabs, down for keeps. Never really understood that game when I was 8 and still am being left flustered and disappointed by it.

I could sit here and say that I preferred disaster and disappointment when it was my fault because it seemed almost controllable in a way, but I don't feel that way. I honestly believe that it's worth it to be "good" and that often there is nothing given in return for being "good," but it's worth it just for the piece of mind. I do, however, feel a little bit ripped off by some elements of the world at the moment. Life can feel like a big rip off at times.